


Secrets, Secrets Are No Fun

by owlpockets



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 22:13:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlpockets/pseuds/owlpockets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson had always been the one person at SHIELD with whom Clint and Natasha felt they could share anything without fear of judgment or retribution. Boy, were they wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets, Secrets Are No Fun

**Author's Note:**

> Written for rubygirl29 via avengers_xchng on LJ. While this fic was intended as gen, a little Clint/Coulson sneaked in at the end there, if you like to see it that way. Many thanks to my beta, ImaginAries!

“Whatever happened to a good old Christmas party?” Clint griped. “Now it’s all ‘holiday gathering’ and shit like that.”

“It’s culturally insensitive, you know this, Clint,” Natasha replied with a slight sigh. “Besides, do you really want a repeat of Director Fury in a Santa suit? It took me five years to repress that memory. Five. Years.”

Clint went momentarily blank and then shook himself. Okay, yeah, there was _that_. Like Natasha, he had no desire to experience a repeat of that party. Clint had had a little too much champagne that night and in his drunken haze had decided that sitting on Fury’s lap was a grand idea. One of the other agents was supposed to take a photo, for shits and giggles, but thankfully it didn’t happen. Clint was hazy on the outcome and entirely unsure of how it must have looked to the rest of the guests, but he did remember waking up on the floor under the supervision of the SHIELD medical team.

“Uhh, right.” Clint decided a change of subject was in order. “Hey, where’s that Victoria’s Secret Santa hat I got you?”

Natasha narrowed her eyes and looked at him sidelong as they walked. “You must be kidding. It’s pink. And satin.”

“So? It’s cute and festive.”

“Have you not listened to anything I said? It’s not a Christmas party, so a Santa hat would be inappropriate. Also, it’s hideous.”

“But I ordered it special for you! Those are limited edition, you know.” Clint added a whining note to his voice, amused that she even rose to the bait rather than ignoring him completely. “Besides, pink would look nice with your hair.”

“You are sorely misguided. I don’t wear pink.”

“But there was that one time—”

Natasha went red as fast as she turned to jab a finger into his chest. “Do not ever mention that. Ever.”

As soon as she turned back to stalk down the hallway, Clint allowed himself a private grin. Mission accomplished; that was payback for making him remember the extremely traumatic Santa Fury incident.

For the first time ever, the office holiday party was not being hosted at SHIELD HQ. How Stark had managed to convince Hill that it should be held at a swanky hotel instead of the usual cold chrome decks of the Helicarrier was completely beyond Clint (and he was mightily impressed). Apparently, Tony had originally been gunning for the observation deck of Stark Tower, but the renovations weren’t completed in time. But that was perfectly okay with Clint, as the current location still got him away from his room at SHIELD that was starting to feel more like a prison cell than home. The overabundance of gray certainly didn’t help.

The party room was all warm light and glitter and good smells when Clint and Natasha went through the door. They were fashionably late, of course, though mostly due to Clint realizing at the last second he had one tie left to his name and it was from 1998. While that would be acceptable for attending the lame-ass events SHIELD usually put together, Clint realized in a panic he could not be seen like that as an official Avenger. At least the suit was reasonable, having had to buy a new one a couple of years ago when his old one was ruined when a mission went unexpectedly south. Natasha, at the height of fashion always, had tagged along on his frantic search to make snide comments about his choices, and in the end picked a perfect one for him, bless her.

Natasha herself looked glorious—black was her best color, simply framing the masterwork that was her hair and eyes. She had added a little glittery teal bow to her hairstyle for the occasion. Clint felt secretly and consistently underdressed next to her, but mostly he didn’t mind.

“Welcome, friends!” Thor boomed almost as soon as they walked in the door. The evening looked instantly brighter for his infectious good humor. It was really quite impossible to dislike Thor, Clint figured. He radiated good cheer.

Thor was also (perplexingly) carrying a tray of canapés, but Clint wasn’t going to be the first to mention it. “Hey, Thor! Long time, no see. How’ya been, buddy?”

“I am well, Clint. I have returned for this most enjoyable holiday feast.” Thor leaned closer and added conspiratorially, “The food is very small, though. I took this larger plate, but other guests keep trying to steal from it.”

Behind him, he could hear Natasha’s tiny snort, truncated politely. Clint suppressed a laugh also. “Sorry to break it to you, but that’s a serving tray, bro.”

“Oh! Thank you for informing me. Midgardian tableware is still fairly new to me. I will return it to the wait staff immediately.” Thor looked greatly disappointed at having to give up his ‘plate’ as he turned to find one of the waiters.

Clint turned to Natasha after Thor was out of sight. “Bet you never thought we’d have _aliens_ at our Christmas party five years ago.”

“Holiday party.”

“ _Whatever_.”

Natasha smiled, not bothering to hide her wicked little grin. She was in a rare playful mood that probably had less to do with the holiday season and more to do with the giddiness of ‘hey we’re still alive somehow, and there’s a legit alien at our office party.’ Clint was inclined to feel the same.

“Let’s get some drinks and get this party started, shall we?” Clint grinned back and offered her his arm.

Natasha accepted and they walked arm in arm toward the drinks table. “Oh look, a Stark in its natural habitat,” she said. Clint nearly choked. Her usual stoicism sometimes caused him to forget that she was hiding a razor-sharp sense of humor, especially now that they didn’t spend as much time together as they used to.

Tony, of course, took it in stride. “I heard that. And it’s sparkling water, honest. Out of this entire room no one is more surprised by that than me.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek lightly, and Natasha patted his arm in return. “Hello, by the way. Merry Christmas, happy Hanukah, blessed annual ritual murder spree, or whatever it is you celebrate this time of year. Let’s just go with happy holidays, cover all the bases.”

“Yes, let’s.” Natasha answered enigmatically. She released Clint and snagged two glasses of champagne from the table, turning back to hand him one. “This part is a happy change from years past.”

“How exactly did you get Hill to agree to this? I mean, she gets things done, but she’s not exactly known for appreciating the finer things in life. Once she told me we couldn’t have bagels at a meeting because it slowed down the agenda while everyone was chewing.”

Tony wiggled his eyebrows. “That’s between me and Agent Hill and her non-regulation handcuffs.”

“…Ew, Stark.” Natasha frowned at him. “Some things you should really keep to yourself.”

“No, seriously. She caught me going through her office. She was going to arrest me but I threatened to put a photo of her Twilight scrapbook on Facebook if she didn’t let me help with the party.”

Clint felt like every Christmas had come at once and he choked on his drink. “You’re fucking kidding.”

“Oops.” Tony shrugged and looked less than apologetic about having let slip that secret. “The moral of this story: lock that shit up.”

“I guess that goes for your collection of ‘80s teen romance movies too, Clint,” Natasha said calmly.

Oh, he was going to get her back for that one, someday. Clint came to the realization that it was she who must have started that rumor in the first place, regardless of the truth behind it. It wasn’t so much a collection as a few select classics he liked to watch after a really bad day. Clint replied inelegantly, “What? That’s a dirty rumor.”

Natasha quirked her eyebrow at him, but she said nothing. Tony just laughed and patted Clint on the shoulder as he moved past. “Sure it is, buddy. Don’t worry, I like you enough not to confirm or deny it if anyone asks.”

Clint made a face at Tony’s back. “Wow, thanks. You’re such a good friend,” he called sarcastically.

“Don’t encourage him, Clint.” Natasha handed him a second glass of champagne while taking another for herself as well. They hadn’t finished the first round yet, but she must be planning on getting him drunk for her own nefarious purposes. He was okay with that. Probably. Provided nothing untoward happened before they headed home.

“You encouraged him first,” Clint replied and drained his first glass before she could hand him a third.

“Did not,” was all Natasha said in her defense. She gazed over his shoulder, toward the scatter of elegantly draped tables on the other side of the room. Her eyes brightened a bit. “Oh, looks like Coulson is up and about.”

“Yeah?” Clint turned and followed her gaze. Indeed, Phil was seated alone at a central table. He looked better than the last time they had seen him, dressed in his usual black suit. Someone—probably not Phil, for he disliked ornamentation, however small—had put a goofy reindeer pin on his lapel. Clint smiled a little to himself.

When Clint turned back to Natasha, she was looking at him. “You should go say hi. I’m going to talk to Pepper, but I’ll be over in a bit.”

“Yeah, ok. Good idea.” Clint took his champagne glasses and dodged around the drinks table toward where Phil was sitting. He made his approach obvious, knowing how jumpy recently wounded agents could be, especially one as seasoned as Phil.

“New tie?” Phil asked as soon as Clint was within earshot.

“Natasha picked it out. Otherwise, I’d be wearing something totally hideous right now.” Clint hooked one of the empty chairs with his foot and brought it around to face Phil before he sat down. “Here, Natasha keeps handing me these, but I don’t think I feel like being drunk today after all. Bad things happen when I get drunk at office parties.”

Phil took the glass with a faint, unnervingly mysterious smile. “Thanks, I was trying to look pathetic enough sitting here for someone to bring me one, but apparently the entire room is full of stone-cold killers.”

Clint laughed and leaned back in his chair. “Glad to see you more or less back on your feet.” 

“Me, too. There are only so many hours you can spend in bed looking at pictures of Grumpy Cat without going a little crazy.”

Clint nodded. “I hear ya. Sucks being injured at Christmas, doesn’t it?”

“It’s not the worst. At least I’m not alone.”

“Yeah…that happened to me once. It was a…a pretty dark point in my life. It felt like I was losing everything.” Clint finished quietly and raised his glass to hide the frown twitching at his lips.

“I remember that. It was right after you joined SHIELD.”

“I think the only thing that got me through that was some sap left me a poinsettia plant while I was still too drugged up after surgery to notice. Maybe it was the drugs, but I fucking cried why I saw that thing sitting there, man. It was all red and cheerful and had dorky little gold plastic ornaments on it.”

Phil looked down and smiled. “That was me, I brought the plant.”

Clint startled and stared at him, a tendril of warmth spreading through his chest. “What, really? I always thought it was one of the nurses that got to see me naked or something.”

“Seriously, Clint, not everyone wants to see you naked.” Natasha’s voice came from over his head, full of amusement. “Good to see you, Coulson.”

“And you, Natasha.” Phil raised his glass to her. “Though I beg to differ, there is video evidence of just how much certain parties are interested in exposing Barton’s backside to the world.”

And suddenly Clint’s blood ran cold and he squirmed in his chair. “Nooo no no no. There can’t be.”

“Now, that's interesting.” Natasha slid into the last empty chair, her face a mask of disinterest, but Clint knew her better than that. She was angling for information.

Phil didn’t hesitate to pull out his phone. “I kept this for posterity. The camera on my old phone wasn’t great, but you can definitely still see what’s going on.” 

Clint was tempted to run away until the video started, and then he was tempted to grab the phone and run away. But what was the point? Phil probably had a hundred copies hidden in places he would never find. On the little screen, Fury was looking to the side as Clint, clearly drunk off his ass and stifling giggles, snuck in from the side and jumped into his lap. The next part was a bit blurry, but there was no mistaking what happened—Fury, without so much as a warning, threw him off, pantsed him, and kicked him in the balls. There was a few seconds more, but Clint couldn’t watch.

“Wow, I didn’t think it could be as funny as seeing it in person, but I was wrong.” Natasha raised her eyebrows as she watched. “At least now you know exactly what happened, Clint.”

Clint shot her a withering look across the table. “Go fuck yourself, Nat.”

“Oh, that reminds me. I think I have an old classic for Natasha on here too,” Phil said mildly. He started scrolling through the camera roll on his phone. “I know I must have transferred it at some point….”

Natasha had quickly gone white as a sheet and she was gripping her champagne glass tight enough it must have been on the verge of breaking, but she said nothing. Clint was inwardly rejoicing. Payback at last!

“Yes, here it is.” Phil brought up a photo of Natasha wearing a pink cotton confection of a dress, complete with puffed sleeves and a large bow. The skirts fell just below her knees, and there were shoes with ribbons that went up her legs. The whole thing was topped with a lacy headdress on her carefully styled curls. Clint thought she looked rather pretty, but he could never tell her that seriously or she’d never speak to him again. “This is from your modeling days in Japan, isn’t it? For that job that never went anywhere?”

This time the glass did crack, tipping the champagne all over the fancy tablecloth. “Yes. I thought I had all of those destroyed. How do you still have it?”

“I like to keep a personal record of agents I’ve worked closely with. In case obscure information is ever needed again.”

Awkward silence fell over their table as Natasha started dabbing at the mess with a napkin. Phil had purposefully skirted the word ‘blackmail,’ Clint was pretty sure. Both he and Natasha had always confided in Phil over anyone else because he was experienced and kind, but apparently they had both been extremely misguided. Phil was the most devious of them all under that calm, pleasant exterior. Clint figured he might be falling a little bit in love. Once the shock and horror wore off, that is.


End file.
